


And vengeance rode with him

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Silmarillion Prompts [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Nirnaeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 5: Maglor and Uldor during the Nirnaeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And vengeance rode with him

“We are betrayed.”

Maedhros’ eyes were wild beneath his helm as he spun to face his brother. “Makalaurë. The Easterling Men – where did they all come from? They have turned upon us.” And sure enough, below the low rise on which they had established their banner, the men of Uldor – more numerous, somehow, than they had seemed before – were turning on their elven companions, bringing them low with their heavy broadswords, and the soldiers of Himring, taken unawares and from behind, were falling. 

Maglor drew his swords. “Then they shall see how the sons of Fëanor meet betrayal.” 

He raised his voice in a cry that made the warriors below freeze in their tracks, blood running cold at the fell sound, and then Maglor was upon them, his double blades laying waste about him, and soon he felt Maedhros’ presence at his back. 

They fought like they had for hundreds of years now, back to back, Maglor with his twin silver sickles; Maedhros with his great, grim blade in his left hand, and on his face, the promise of death. 

But Maglor could feel the fear upon his brother, the doubt and the rising realization –  _We shall not make it in time._  The truth of it – the fear of it – pierced him, but it only ignited his rage further. 

 _We have been betrayed!_  

 

And so when the familiar face of Uldor rose before him, Maglor growled a curse and surged forward. 

“Traitor!” he snarled, bringing his swords down in a ferocious blow. 

Uldor blocked him with his great battle-axe, throwing him back. “I owe you no fidelity, elf,” he spat back. “You offer us your friendship but think us always beneath you, arrogant fey of the west! The dark lord offers us more than the friendship of beings who disdain us – he offers lands, and wealth – real things, elf, things that will let us survive!” 

“Fool!” Maglor wrenched his blades free of the axe haft and struck again. “You are mad if you believe Morgoth will grant you more than thralldom and the same treachery you showed us!” 

“Better to die a thrall than at the side of elf-filth!” Uldor fell back, spitting blood from the blow Maglor had landed with the flat of his sword, and Maglor pursued him, deadly in his rage. 

“You cannot defeat me, human,” he whispered. “I will grant you your wish and let you die a thrall of Morgoth.” 

Uldor laughed, wildly. “You may carry my death in your hands,  _my lord_ , but I carry your brother’s.” And with a grin, he hefted a throwing axe from his belt and hurled it past Maglor, at Maedhros’ unprotected back. 

“Maitimo!” cried Maglor, and as Maedhros spun, he saw the flying steel. He ducked, but not quickly enough, and the axe caught him in the shoulder.

Blood rose in Maglor’s eyes and he descended in a white light upon the man before him, knocking his battle axe aside and crossing his swords beneath Uldor’s chin. “The reward for your treachery, vermin,” he hissed, and scythed his blades apart. 

The man’s blood soaked his hands, but Maglor didn’t pause to see the head rolling down the hill, whirling to seize his brother as Maedhros sank to his knees. 

“Nelyo!” 

“It is nothing, Kano,” Maedhros managed, baring his teeth against the pain and giving a bitter laugh. “It is only my right arm after all.” 

Behind them, their warriors, roused to the danger, had nearly dispatched all of Uldor’s men, and their standard still stood tall. 

Maglor gripped Maedhros’ arm, leaving a bloody handprint. Tearing a strip from his scarlet cloak, he wrapped a rough tourniquet around his brother’s wounded arm. Maedhros wasn’t paying attention. His attention was fixed on the distant plains, on the shadows pouring forth from Angband. And among them, excruciatingly small and scattered, ranks arrayed in silver and blue. 

“Flames,” he whispered. “Flames from Thangorodrim…” 

“We shall meet them,” said Maglor, firmly, steadying his brother. “We can still conquer them. It shall take more than the treachery of a Man to defeat us.” 

“It is too late,” said Maedhros, and his eyes were wide with horror. “We have failed them. I have been such a  _fool_ …” 

“No!” Maglor shook him roughly. “We can still prevail. And we will find him, Maitimo.” 

“It is lost,” said Maedhros, and the despair on his face rent Maglor’s heart. “The doom is upon us.” 

“No!” Maglor pulled his brother to his feet and forced his fingers back around the hilt of his sword. He had heard a cry amongst the soldiers, spreading through the ranks. 

 _Utúlie’n aurë - !_  

Maglor spoke it like a prayer, like a song. “The day has come! Rise and  _fight_ , brother. The night is passing!” 

And something in the words stirred Maedhros, and he shook his head, as if clearing it, and once again stood tall and strong above the plains of Anfauglith. “Yes.” He raised his eyes once more to fix on the distant glints of silver and blue. “Yes. The night passes.” 

“And we follow in its wake,” whispered Maglor, and with their remaining troops behind them, they rushed forward like a great wave over the blasted land.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. This one took me a bit longer to work out, and Uldor probably didn’t get as much screentime as he should have, but I really enjoyed writing battle!Maglor.


End file.
